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Newsgroups: uiuc.test
From: achiang@uiuc.edu (Alex Chiang)
Subject: A sad sad day
Date: Thu, 21 Jun 2001 00:02:27 GMT
It is over. The Jason Zych we once knew and loved is no more. The
relevant evidence:
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Newsgroups: uiuc.test
Subject: Re: analogy
From: j-zych3@glsn6.ews.uiuc.edu (Jason Zych)
Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2001 22:01:51 GMT
Mike Hunter writes:
> God this rot13 shit is gay.
You want me.
--
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Jason Zych | "Who knows what passwords lurk in the
Engineer at Large | hearts of men? ... /etc/shadow knows."
j-zych3@uiuc.edu | - Dave Terrell
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With many (many) apologies to Ernest Thayer, a personal tribute
to the man I once knew...
* Disclaimer 1: apologies if your name is included within and
you really didn't want it there. No malice on
my part was intended. I promise.
* Disclaimer 2: forgive the broken meter in some spots. Thayer
wrote his poem for a hero with a two-syllable
last name. Our hero has a monosyllabic surname.
I tried to preserve as much of the original meter
as possible, but had varying success. Sue me.
* Disclaimer 3: here is a link to the original poem, in case
you are interested.
http://www.clark.net/pub/cosmic/catb_1.html
Anyhow, enough disclaimers. Feedback is welcome. Enjoy (or not).
-------
Zych and the True
(2001)
by Alex Chiang
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the .test regulars that year;
Hunter trolled through and through, hooked most, and had no fear.
And then when Glinos spake of ASS!, and Pacold did the same,
The rest quickly followed suit and were Tasmanians only in name.
A straggling few wrote killfiles and carried on. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Zych could but remain true--
We'd put up even money now as stoop this low Zych wouldn't do.
But Johannesen preceded Zych, as did also Sidney C.,
And the former was a lulu and the latter worked for the Uni;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat-- they knew,
That there seemed but little chance of Zych's remaining true.
But Johannesen let fly a pun, to the wonderment of all,
And Cammeresi, the objectivist, did then post in Esperanto;
And when the dust had lifted and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Sidney raising standards and Johannesen's thoughtful words.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the rocks,
For Zych, mighty Zych, was advancing to his unix box.
There was ease there in Zych's manner as he sat down in his place;
There was pride there in Zych's bearing and a smile upon Zych's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he raised his can of Dew,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Zych that'd remain true.
Ten thousand eyes were upon him as he lightly stretched his fingers;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he began to compose his zingers.
Then while the wanker Hunter trolled and thought he was hip,
Defiance gleamed in Zych's eye, a sneer curled Zych's lip.
And now the electron-laden troll came hurtling through the ether,
And Zych stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur whither.
Close by the sturdy lecturer the troll unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Zych. "You want me," Hunter said.
From the labs black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the troll!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Zych then raised his hand.
With a smile of Zen-like charity great Zych's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the posting go on;
He signaled to the troll, and once more the electrons flew;
But Zych still ignored them, and the troll roar'd, "STFU!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Zych and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his forehead crease,
And they knew that Zych would never let his quality posts decease.
The sneer is gone from Zych's lip, he rises above the herd;
He pounds with cruel violence his fingers upon the keyboard.
And now the troll writes his post, and now he sends it off,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Zych's great scoff.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere babies poop;
But there is no joy in .test -- mighty Zych has thus stooped.
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